A Christmas Carol
by The Consulting Panda
Summary: Workaholic Mycroft Holmes choices his work time and time again over his brother, over working his PA and having no regard to those who his life effects. But will he get a chance to fix his mistakes? OR will he run out of time?
1. A Social Visit

**A Christmas Carol**

* * *

It was a cold December day, the sky was putting a fresh layer of snow on the grows of London. But it was not just any day, it was Christmas Eve to be exact. Many Londoners were busy shopping for those last few Christmas presents or the few ingredients they forgot for the Christmas feast.

A black unmarked car made it's way down one of the roads of London. Inside this car was Mycroft Holmes and his PA, or more commonly known as Anthea. The brunette girl was typing furiously on her blackberry and hadn't looked for ten minutes so far. The two, along with the driver although he never spoke unless spoken to, road along in silence. This comfortable silence between the two wasn't broken until the woman spoke.

"Sir, your brother was spotted by The Eye of London. Apparently he was assisting DI Greg Lestrade on another of his cases."

"And what is his status so far?"

"He is unharmed so far, but Dr. Watson has received a head wound from the murder. Nothing serious, but he will be receiving some stitches."

"This was the Matthew case? Where the bodies kept showing up in River Themes?"

"Yes sir, the murder was Nathan Matthew, he worked for Mr. Yo Le, the Chinese Representative who was suppose to meet with you next Tuesday." Anthea said as she scrolled through her blackberry.

"I suppose he'll try and return to his home country now, won't he?" Mycroft said rubbing his forehead.

"That seems most likely." Anthea said without really paying attention to what her boss was saying.

"Yes, well than I suppose there's only thing left to do. Have our meeting rescheduled from next Tuesday at 4 p.m. to tomorrow at 3 p.m."

"But sir, you do realize tomorrow is Christmas?"

"Just another work day if you ask me!"

As they spoke the black car stopped in front of an office building. The driver got out and opened the door for his boss. Once Mycroft stepped out of the car, the driver wanted until his PA was out before going back in and driving back around to a parking lot not far from the building, awaiting orders for when he was to pick them up.

* * *

Mycroft worked endlessly, he felted surrounded by the piles of paperwork around him. He could almost feel new wrinkles making their mark on his face.

The door to his office flew open and his PA brushed into the room. "Sir, your brother is here."

And almost immediately his dark haired younger brother came swooping into his his office.

"What have you do this time Sherlock" Mycroft said with a groan.

"Please do try and give me the benefit of the doubt, I've actually come for a social visit."

"You?! A social visit?! What has Dr. Watson taken from you this time? Did he help Mrs. Hudson hide your skull again?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "No, in fact Mycroft I came by my own will. As you most likely know, I and John host a Christmas party each year. It is usual a small intimate group, I have spoken to John, and he has agreed to let me invite you. No, I am not being forced, but I thought maybe this might get you to stop bugging me to come to mummy's cotillion."

Mycroft was torn between raising his eyebrows in surprise or groaning. "No Sherlock, I-"

"The party is tomorrow at seven p.m. It would been at six, but since John's sister, Harry, insisted that she was getting clean and wanted to celebrate with John this year. John has foolishly agreed, he is spending Christmas afternoon with his sister and than she is going to see some aunt. Don't worry about attire, although John insist it is semi-formal he will mostly likely be wearing some ridicules sweater. No doubt you'll be wearing on of your tailor made-"

"I will not be attending Sherlock." Mycroft said through gritted teeth. His younger brother had a bad habit of blabbering on when he was embarrassed about something. Ever Sherlock's faked suicide he and Mycroft had grown eve further apart. Of course Sherlock realized that Mycroft had betrayed him, but what hurt the most was that Sherlock wasn't surprised by it.

Now they hadn't spoke, not that they spoke much before. But now whenever Mycroft did stop by Baker Street to offer his brother a case, Dr. Watson would end up doing all the talking for Sherlock. The last time it had taken a full two weeks before he heard a reply from them. But by then the murder had already committed two more murders, and one being a teenage boy.

After that Sherlock had gotten an ear full from John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. Apparently it was a 'bit not good' and John made sure Sherlock understood that peoples lives were more an important than their 'stupid bloody rivalry'.

Mycroft realized that inviting Mycroft into there home for an 'intimate party'. But- there was simply too much work. Besides, if they did get Mr. Yo le in tomorrow and the deal went through, there would certainly be a handsome enough of money coming through.

"You- what?!"

"I'm sorry Sherlock, but I have a meeting tomorrow-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I'm sure you can afford taking Christmas off tomorrow. Nearly the rest of the worlds does and they seem to be able to get along fine. Besides, I;m sure your PA-"

"Please Sherlock, if that is all than please leave. I have work-"

"Why are you always so stubborn?! The one time I try and make an enough you turn me down because you have 'work' to do. I myself understand the importance of work, but you still have to rest sometime!"

"Dr. Watson seems to be rubbing off on you. Did you crash again brother?" Mycroft said with a scowl, he didn't need to be told off my his brother. His younger, ex-addict, 'sleeping and eating slow me down' brother for that matter. "Honestly Sherlock, I'd think you'd know by now-"

"Don't try and use 'reason' Mycroft. Unfortunately when it comes to sentimental things Holmes logical doesn't work."

"Sentimental? To think that the day has come when The Great Sherlock Holmes has turned to...Sentiment." Mycroft said the last word with such disgust that you could practically see it dipping with it.

Sherlock took a deep breath, "Mycroft, please, I'm-"

"Please? Has the world finally come to an end? Leave now Sherlock, I'm much too busy-"

"I am TRY Mycroft! I'm trying to fix things with John, I'm still working to prove myself to Lestrade. Yes, my name has been cleared, but now I actually have to face the fact that I have _friends,_ and now I have to be one. And on top of all that I face the fact that my brother betrayed me! I know you think me heartless, but I think this whole ordeal has proved that false! People have died because of our stubbornness Mycroft! Could you not put your work aside for once and at least TRY!"

Sherlock was furious by the end of his rant. Mycroft had been polite enough to stay quiet and listen the whole time. But...He had work to do, not only the Mr. Yo le deal, but there was also a meeting in Germany in three days that he needed to prepare for, and he still had to call back-

"I'm sorry Sherlock, I can't make it. It seems I can't make you understand, so I will ask you politely to leave and that yo give my regard to Dr. Watson."

Sherlock, with a dark and thunderous look upon his face, stood and staked out. As his coat flew behind, he slammed the door shut, causing the room to shake and a vase to fell and shatter.

* * *

_**A/N: So, in the original 'Christmas Carol' the character scrooge was in love with money. Unfortunately I couldn't imagine Mycroft like that, so I had him choosing his work over everything else. **_

_**Also, there is no Mary Morstan in this. This is because I don't feel comfortable writing her character yet without seeing what she will be like.  
**_

_**Okay, so I know Sherlock is being a bit OOC, but it'll be explained later. Plus, i think after the whole fall thing he'll differently be changed over the time he's been away.**_

_**Just bare with him me.**_


	2. Christmas Plans

**Chapter 2 **

"I cannot believe that over grow, pompous, git-"

"I'm guessing your visit with Mycroft didn't go so well."

Sherlock came home late that night, they had been on a case for the past three days now and John wanted to get some food inside Sherlock before the man crashed. Again.

But when he said he was going to invite his brother to their annual Christmas party, John agreed that it could wait a few more hours. That was over three hours ago, which meant that it hadn't gone well and Sherlock had wanted to blow some steam off.

After Sherlock's return he and John shared many arguments from what Sherlock did while he was aboard to who used what cup. After these arguments Sherlock would go out for a walk to 'cool down'. John, with his stupid paranoia, would always have a small panic and won't calm down until Sherlock returned. This continued on until one day after a very heated fight, John decided to follow Sherlock and apologize.

When he did find Sherlock, he found him sitting on a park bench smoking a cigarette. After that they agreed that if Sherlock quit, John would try and be little more understanding (and he also bought Sherlock his own mini fridge for his experiments).

John couldn't believe it had been nearly a year since Sherlock had returned from the (not so) dead. Yes, it had been a shock, yes, he had punched Sherlock, and yes, they didn't talk for almost a week after. But John soon grew weary and went and visited Sherlock at 221B Baker Street. Moving out had been one of the hardest things he had ever done. But almost as soon as he forgave Sherlock they were back to solving crimes.

Not two weeks later John moved back in and they had been flat mates ever since.

"So, what happened?" John asked as he folded up the newspaper and put it on the table stand next to him.

"That fat git turned down Christmas for work!"

"Hmmm...Sounds like someone else I know." John said with a knowing yet fond smile.

"Oh please! That was completely different! Besides, even I was social for a day!" Sherlock said as he stalked to his room without closing his door.

"Oh I'm sure he'll change his mind. He'll probably talk with Anthea and have her change his scheduled and be here in time for cake!"

Sherlock returned a few minutes later in his pajamas and plopped down on the couch. He took up the entire couch as he sprawled himself out and cracked his toes and then loosened himself as he let himself sink into the couch.

"Hmmm...Still, he's a work addict and is a Holmes. Two things that never mixed well in the Holmes family. You'd be surprised to find that not all of us are heartless-"

John rolled his eyes with a smile.

"-but most are usual either heartless OR some sort of addict. Not to bore you with my family story, but he wasn't always like...this."

John raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"There was a time when he would jump at the chance to go to a party, and not just a business one. Mummy use to 'force' us (more me than him) to go to her cotillions. Much to your surprise I'm sure, Mycroft was quite the ladies man."

"Mycroft? A ladies man! Bollocks!"

"He's changed over the years, and not for the best. If he doesn't do something about it soon about it...Well, I shudder to think."

There was a silence that spread over the flat of 221B. Sherlock, in deep though and John in looking far off pondering the next words that would come out of his mouth. "Did you tell him yet?" John said, making the silence turn from comfortable to fill with tension."

"No."

"Sherlock...He's going to find out-"

"When and if, my brother does finally come to his senses I'll be here waiting. Until then I ask that you keep our promise not tell him."

"Of course Sherlock...But- maybe Mycroft could-"

"No John, I don't want his help."

John signed defeatedly and shook his head.

* * *

"Make sure Mr. Yo Le is here tomorrow on time. If he isn't then cancel any purchases he has made and have Brutus collect him. Make sure Brutus doesn't...damage him. It was tedious having to deal with Mr. Gillian's lawyer, I don't wish to repeat that experience if it can be avoided-"

"Sir, I couldn't get Mr. Yo Le for tomorrow. I made sure to look into his purchases and he bought I plane ticket for a plane to Tokyo for next week. He agreed to come in day after tomorrow-"

"You wish to ask me something?" Mycroft asked staring at his PA, watching her shift from foot-to-foot, fidget with the hem of her dress, and curl her hair around her finger for the fifth time.

"Sir-...There's no appointments for tomorrow...And since you're noting going to your brother's party I won't be needed to alert Reggy with the car-"

"The point."

"I would appreciate if I was allowed the day off tomorrow."

There was a silence that settled in the room that made the PA worried that her request was to be denied.

"Very well, since it would seem everyone else thinks tomorrow is of some importance. But I want you in an extra hour early the day next!"

A smile appeared on the PA's face as she left the room to gather her coat and things. She stuffed he blackberry into one coat pocket and pulled out an iPhone out of the other. She waved to Reggy as she went to hail a cab for herself.

Maybe, just maybe, there was still hope for her boss.


	3. The Ghost of Silas Holmes

Mycroft continued to work endlessly, apparently Mr. Yo Le had a business partner in Brazil who owned an airport and lent out private planes. With the help from his business partner, Mr. Yo Le could easily get his men out of the country with new identities. If he could get one of his men down at the airport- well, first he would have to find out which airport, what type of airplane they'll be taking, how loyal the pilot is to-

*Knock**Knock**knock*

Before Mycroft could yell to leave him be, his door flew open for the second time that evening to reveal two men dressed still in their winter coats and gloves.

Holding back a groan, Mycroft addressed the men. "How might I help you?"

"At this festive season of the year, Mr. Holmes, it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the Poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir."

"Are there no prisons?" Mycroft questioned back to the man who had spoken.

"Plenty of prisons..."

"And the poor houses." demanded Mycroft. "Are they still in operation?"

"Both very busy, sir..."

"Those who are badly off must go there."

"Many can't go there; and many would rather die."

"If they would rather die," said Mycroft, "they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population!"

The two blinked and looked towards each other for moment, then back to Mycroft. They had obviously never been refused before. "Now, if that was all, I trust you can show yourselves out?"

Without saying another word, the two men left with bemused looks upon their faces.

* * *

Snow began to fall heavily through the London air as Mr. Mycroft Holmes had his way home. He sat in the backseat of the car waiting for the seat-warmers to start up. He rubbed his hands together to keep them warm as he set his briefcase next to him on the seat.

"Drive me home Reggy, then you can go home and have tomorrow off."

"Yes sir!" Reggy said happily as he put the car in 'drive' and took off from his boss' office.

Silence filled the car as Mycroft opened his briefcase and began looking over his work. He gave his PA the evening and the next day off, so he'd have alert his men himself. He could get Thomas to look into finding out which airport Mr. Yo Le's business partner was holding his planes at.

"Sir...We- We're here."

Mycroft looked up and blinked in surprised as he noticed there they were parked in front of his house. Mycroft nodded and put his paperwork back inside his briefcase and left the car.

As the car drove away he walked up the few steps to his door. He reached into his winter coat pocket and began fishing for his house keys. As he did this he happen to glance up once and notice that the knocker on his front door had transformed into a different shape. He snapped his head back and did a double-take. He blinked when the knocker began to take the form of a human face. But not a human face, but the face of one whom he was once very familiar with. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes widen in shock.

A hollow voice was heard in the wind, a whispered _"...Holmes..."_ drifted into his ear as he shook his head.

When he looked again his knocker had once again taken its true form. Mycroft dismissed the event thinking to himself that he was simply tired from the days advents and that some well deserved rest would cure him from these hallucinations.

* * *

Even while he was inside the safety of his home, Mycroft felt wary and shaken from the fight on his doorstep. The face he had seen was one with much likeness of his father, the late Mr. Holmes. With the memories of his father dancing around in his head, Mycroft began checking in each of the rooms in his house.

The late Mr. Holmes had made Mycroft his apprentice from a young age. When he wasn't abroad in other countries, he would spend his with Mycroft, teaching him everything he knew about the business world and people. When Mycroft was old enough, his father took him along when he go abroad. Once Mycroft finished his schooling, his father hired him as his representative and soon his partner.

But that was seven years ago, after his father's death Mycroft took over his position and ran it himself without a partner.

Once satisfied with his search, Mycroft retired to his room with a small plate of food and a cup of tea. He eat his food in a armchair by the fireplace in his room. The fire warmed him and he ate his food greedily. During his work he had over time acquired a bad habit similar to his young brother.

If the work he was currently involved in was time consuming and needed to be done by a deadline he would skip meals and would only have a cup of tea that his PA would bring him from time-to-time.

Time soon became a blur to Mycroft; he felt his eye lids become heavy and his hands dropping into his lap. He rested his head by the shoulder of the armchair and let the darkness of sleep take over him.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes as awoken hours later by the sound of a bell of his wall ringing. At first it rang only once, and seemed to stop once he took notice of it. But once he closed his eyes again the ringing began again. This time the bell continued ringing even when Mycroft stared at it with awe and wonder.

The bell suddenly stopped letting tension filled silence creep into the late night air. The moon was high in the sky and the air had a chill to it that was not created by the December winds.

From the stairs behind Mycroft, there was a clanking sound ascending. As the sound grew nearer and nearer, Mycroft draw in towards himself. He heard a moan come from the stairs as the clanking sound grew louder. The once faint sound began as loud as thunder.

Mycroft heard his name come out like a moan. Along with the clanking noise he heard footsteps stomping on the stairs.

The noise stopped all at once when it reached the top of the stairs and must have been standing in front of Mycroft's door.

The bedroom door flew open and a moaned "Mycroft!" came in like a gust of wind and blew out the fire. The lights in the room faltered and soon the room was consumed with darkness.

Mycroft felt around until his hand found the drawer of the nightstand that was next to his armchair. He opened the drawer and felt inside until he found a small candle and a old pack of matches. He placed the candle on a candle-stand and squished the match in between the match pack and the flap of the match pack. With the match lit he brought the light to the candle.

With the new light he looked around the room until his eyes settled on a figure standing in the middle of the room.

Mycroft instantly recognized the figure which was that of his late father. Mycroft stared with wide eyes and dropped, trembling lips. "What do you want from me?" He questioned.

"Much." His father's ghost answered back.

"W-who are you?" Mycroft said grabbing the edges of his dress robe and held his candle forwards towards the ghost.

"It is I, your late father, Silas Holmes."

"Th-that's impossible! This must be some trick! Even the smallest of things could affect one's senses! A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!"

Suddenly the room grew dark and began to shake. The chandelier trembled and the metal objects in the room clanged together. The lights started to flicker and a forceful nearly knocked Mycroft off his feet. Mycroft Holmes crouched down and used his arm as a shield from the wind coming from the unknown. The ghost of his late father raised his hands and began to shake himself. A sickening moan came from within the ghost that caused Mycroft to put his hands over his ears to try and block out the soul racking sound.

As suddenly as it began it ended. The room stilled and the wind seemed to have run its course. Nothing looked as if it had ever moved. The lights, although back on, were dimmed. His father's ghost seemed to return to its previous state and stood still with its chain wrapped around him.

"Do you still doubt me my son?"

Mycroft, left speechless for the first time in his life, only shook his head. With eyes wide and cowering, Mycroft slowly approached the ghost.

"I have come bearing a warning, from the evils I have done during my so have I fashioned these chains. Because of my deeds; neglecting those I loved, forcing those important to me away, and becoming cold hearted to all, I am forced to carry with me these chains for all eternity."

Had this been a normal conversation, with a normal person, under normal circumstances, Mycroft would have become irritated and complained about repeating one's self. But this was not a normal conversation, with a normal person under normal circumstances.

"Listen well and heed my words, if you do not change your ways Mycroft, you too shall be forced to carry such chains like mine. But should you choose to dismay my words, your chains shall be twice as heavy! As punishment for not changing when given a chance."

"But- But father, I knew you to be an isolated man, but as you told long ago, caring isn't an advantage. It leaves as with hurt, sorrow and anger. Isn't better to never have to experience those things? Tell me, were these acts so damnable that you must be punished for them?"

There was a look of sheer horror on the ghost's face as Mycroft spoke. For the true effect of his actions were finally revealed to the late Mr. Holmes. "Oh my son! Look what I have created! I have neglected my family and now my deeds have taken root in the hearts of my descendant!"

"I- I don't understand-"

"Tonight, you shall be visited by three ghosts. The Ghost of Christmas Past, Present and Future. Heed their words that you might be saved from the barren in which I have punished myself with."

As the ghost turned to leave he looked over towards his son once more and with a longing look upon his face said "The first ghost shall come when the clock strikes one."

And without another word the ghost of Mycroft's father vanished into the night.


	4. The Ghost of Christmas Past

**Chapter 4**

Mycroft shakily made his way towards his bed all the while his eyes darted to every corner of the room looking out for any other supernatural beings that were rumored to visit him that night. Once he made it in his bed without bumping into anything, he closed the bed curtains surrounding the bed and turned off the bedside lamp.

Sleep seem to evade Mycroft as he tossed and turned in his large king sized bed. No matter what position he changed to, he couldn't seem to get a good position that would get him quick enough to his gun in his bedside table or to the small alarm on the dress that would signal his men to storm his house.

After hours of restlessness, sleep finally took pity upon the man and let him fall into a deep and dreamless slumber. But this peace was soon taken from him as a bell began to ring alerting him that it was one o'clock and his visitor was now due for their appointment.

Mycroft looked around, but saw nothing. Sighing in relief, Mycroft lay back down and tried to return to the sleep he had found. But this relief was short lived as a blinding light filled his room and slipped through the creeks of the bed curtains.

An angelic voice rang out through the air that summoned him from his bed. Mycroft opened his bed curtains and saw a figure that seemed to be flowing in the air. The figure had a face like that of a child and the body of that of an angel. Golden locks flew in the air as if they were defying gravity along with the rest of the figure.

"Who and what are you?!" Mycroft said with an expression of sheer shock and terror.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."

"...Long Past?" inquired Mycroft: observant of its dwarfish stature.

"No Mycroft Holmes, your past." The ghost not only had a face of that of a young child, but a voice of one as well.

"Of what business do you have with me?" Although Mycroft was sure that he was so far in shock that his brain could not come up with words on his own, his mouth still seem to have the ability of forming words.

"Your welfare." The ghost extended a hand towards Mycroft as it spoke. "Rise, and walk with me."

Mycroft gave the hand a suspicious look over. He slowly and cautiously put his hand upon the hand of the ghost. To his surprise, instead of a cold or mist like hand, the ghost's hand was soft and smooth like that of a woman.

As he walked along side of the ghost, Mycroft noticed that they began to near the window on the far side of his room. Terror filled Mycroft as his mind finally came to the realization of what the ghost was about to do. "Wait! I am a mortal! I will fall!" With those words Mycroft recoiled and distanced himself from the ghost and the window.

The ghost put out its hand again towards Mycroft. "With but just the touch of my hand and you shall upheld in more than this."

Mycroft took the ghost's hand again and allowed the ghost to lead him up so he was standing on the windowsill. Soon Mycroft and the ghost were no longer in his house but rather in the air. Mycroft blinked and looked as the earth below him began to disappear and all turned to a bright blinding light.

Just as sudden as the light began did it leave. Mycroft soon found himself on the ground again, but rather than the cold, dark streets of London, he stood outside of an old familiar school building.

With the snow freshly fallen, boys ran through the white blankets as the school year ended and the Christmas Break began. Cars from different families were waiting in a line outside the school building to pick their children up from the boarding school. The Holmes family was one of the lucky few who lived close enough to the school that a simple drive was enough to bring Mycroft to and from the school. But even with the short distance, Mycroft still remembered the cold Decembers that he had spent at the school's dorms.

Mycroft, now a full grown man, stood outside the old building and looked upon it with awe. "I know this place! I came here when I was a boy!"

"Do you remember the way?" The ghost asked in its young voice, which was quite fitting for the time and place.

"Remember it! I could walk through there with a blindfold!"

As Mycroft and the ghost stood there a group of boys ran around them playing in the snow, waiting for the cars that would bring them home.

"I know those boys..." Mycroft said as he began to reminisce.

"Friends of yours?" The ghost inquired.

"Friends are hardly the word I'd use. We were classmates, nothing more."

Just as before, the outside world faded away and soon Mycroft found himself standing inside the school. The room was silent, as it should have stayed. With the Christmas season coming upon them, all the children and teachers would have left the building to return home to their families to spend Christmas with them. But a moment later, a young boy entered the room carrying his books.

Most people would assume the boy was either behind in his studies or a procrastinator who received a low grades now trying to raise them. But Mycroft Holmes knew better than most, this young boy was he, Mycroft Holmes, trying to get a head start with the next years studies. Although he was already two months ahead of everyone in his class, Mycroft, by the end of the year, would be two years ahead of most children his age.

"Come Holmes, let us see another Christmas."

Years passed by Mycroft as if they were no more than pages of a book being turned. One moment he saw himself sitting alone reading and another he was standing to gather more paper from the school supply closet.

The pages of his life finally stopped turning as they reached another Christmas with young Mycroft sitting alone in his classroom. Suddenly, the school classroom was opened by a woman with dark black, curly hair and eyes the color of all the different shades of the sea. She held her lean figure in a way that could comfort a small babe yet tower over the most stubborn man.

This was Mrs. Holmes.

Mrs. Holmes scanned over the room, and once her eyes landed on young Mycroft's form she darted over to him and put her hands around his neck and peppered him with sweet kisses.

"Mother...?" Questioned the boy Mycroft, startled but still happily surprised to see his loving mother.

"Yes Mycroft, I've come to bring you home!" The mother said with a beaming smile. She sat down next to Mycroft, taking his hands into hers.

"Home?" Mycroft said the word as if he had never heard it before. His face was screwed up and scrunched up in confusions.

"Yes my dear son. Home, for good this time! Your father is so much kinder than he use to be. One night he spoke to be so gently that I was not afraid to ask him once more if you might come home. He told that; yes! You should come home and that I was to send for you at once! Oh Mycroft! You've grown to become quite a young man now! Gone is my baby whose father sent away!"

As his mother spoke, the young Mycroft eyes widen with joy. At the end of her speech, Mycroft threw his hands around his mother's waist in an embrace.

"Oh Mycroft, you are never to return here, and we shall have the happiest Christmas once we return home!"

As Mrs. Holmes spoke a deep voice spoke from the halls. "Bring Mr. Homes boxes down!"

And in the hall appeared the schoolmaster himself, who glared on Mycroft with a ferocious condescension, and threw him into a dreadful state of mind by shaking hands with him.

"Always a delicate creature, with a breath she might have withered," said the Ghost. "But she had a large heart!"

"So she had," cried Mycroft. "You're right. I'll not gainsay it, Spirit. God forbid!"

"Before she died," said the Ghost, "She had more children I think."

"One child," Mycroft returned.

"True," said the Ghost. "Your brother."

Mycroft seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered briefly, "Yes."


	5. Fezziwig's Party

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Just as all things before, the school house and yard faded away and brought Mycroft and the ghost to another Christmas in Mycroft's past. The duo soon found themselves standing in the bust streets of a city. It was night and the sky had already darken, the street lights were shinning down upon the ground in which they stood on. In front of them stood a large building with tall narrow windows in light was pouring out of.

"Tell me Mycroft," the ghost said with an out stretched hand pointing towards the building. "Do you know this place?"

"Know it?!" Mycroft said with a hit of happiness in his voice. "I was apprenticed here!"

The ghost led Mycroft inside the building where a party was underway. Laughter and music filled the air of the merry party. As Mycroft looked about the party he pointed an older gentleman, Mr. Welsh Wig, merrily talking with one of the guests.

"Why, it's old Mr. Fezziwig!" Mycroft exclaimed as he watched the older man laugh cheerfully while is round belly began a shake which could shame Santa Claus. Mr. Wig, otherwise known as Fezziwig, was short man with a round belly. He had gray hair which was undone as he danced lightly on his feet.

In the center of the room men and woman alike were dancing to the sounds of classic and Christmas music. No pop or anything from the culture, the music in the room was made by small band that was hire and so well liked that they played every year for the Fezziwig's party.

Flashes of color danced around the room as the gowns of the woman glittered and the suits of the men were the only consistent thing in the room. The white tilt made small clicking sounds as the people danced upon it. The darkness on the other side of the windows only happened to set the mood and add another color to the room. The golden chandelier shone brightly and cast down light bright enough to have come down from the heavens.

But these were not the only spectacle in the room. A great feast was laid out with cake, roast turkey, mince-pies and plenty of beer! There was chicken and rice, fruit and vegetables of all kinds. Mashed, boiled and sweet potatoes, brownies and muffins, cookies and puddings. It was a feast fit for a king!

And yet, in the heart of this great feast was a younger Mycroft, looking like a manic. "Mr. Wig! Have you seen the price for the food, the ratings for the band, the cost for the decorations and-"

"Calm down Mr. Holmes!" Fezziwig said with a beaming smile. "There is a time and place for worry about money. Tonight is for neither of those, have something to drink to calm your nerves Holmes, there are many of fine young ladies in the room and plenty of agreeable men, get yourself some company. Ah, Belle! Perfect timing!."

Mr. Fezziwig turned Mycroft around and was met with the lady Fezziwig had introduced as Belle.

"Belle, this is Mycroft Holmes, my apprentice and one of my brightest employees!"

Belle's bright blue eyes shown as he looked into Mycroft's. Her brown curls were pulled up into a draped down around her shoulders. She wore a dark blue dress which was strapless but her top half was covered by a light gray wrap. Her red ruby lips spread across her face in a warm smile. Her eye fluttered as she gave Mycroft her hand.

Mycroft took in the young girl's beauty as he raised her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss upon.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Holmes."

"The Pleasure is mine I assure you, and please, call me Mycroft."

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_**Okay, I apologize for not updating in so long! Things have been kinda crazy! I mean, first there was the Holidays, then season three aired, and now it's airing in America (which I live in so I'm totally re-watching it!). But I promise, I won't wait as long to post the next chapter!**_

_**I have to admit, I feel kinda bad about introducing Mycroft to Belle. We all know the story, it's just going to end in heartbreak for the girl...So I hope none of you like her too much! **_

_**I cannot tell you how hard it is writing a romance with Mycroft. First off, I'm horrible with romance. I'm better with casefics, and writing murder scenes and angst. But a romance with the one person in the entire show who shows less emotion than Sherlock?! I'm honestly glad this whole romance thing only last for like 15 minutes!**_


End file.
